With each passing second, I feel as the conviction that had earlier so strongly filled me turns increasingly brittle. Worn away through the approach of the featureless white walls that now dominate the horizon. The clawing dread held at bay thanks to my own continued stubbornness and the calming sound of the rain as it splatters against the window. The latter working alongside the low murmur of the bus’s electric engine to try and lull me into a half-awake state as I lean over in my seat.
My exhaustion from this far too long day pushed off a little longer due to the constant hum of the window against my head and the occasional flash of white. The condemned zone at the edge of this district is at least a kilometre away but still far too close to be comfortable. The base of the protective bulwark visible only in flashes past the overgrown and largely derelict houses that fill this distinctive, and ironically most enduring, remnant of Osterholt’s legacy.
Not quite two districts north of the school, and a constant feature of the skyline for as long as I can remember, this is still the closest I’ve ever been to one of its sides. Before now, the only time I’d come to this district was with Jason back when we’d dared one another to go right up and touch the wall. Neither of us had gotten past the point where vines and vibrant flowers started to cover the faux-wood houses.
Looking along the street now, I can’t see a single plot that doesn’t have some piece of jungle foliage growing over it. The poisoned stumps and burn scars that remain as proof of the council’s occasional purges almost entirely erased by new growth. Not that I can see very far through the sheeting rain that has only gotten heavier since lunchtime.
The warnings over fast wind and low visibility had made it hard to convince Lilly and Claire to let me go home alone and, in the end, I’d just given up and enjoyed the metro-ride together. For whatever reason, Claire had decided to just accept my bad lie about dad being the one who’d called earlier. Perhaps all the excitement over the fallout from the IT block and the near fight above the school had distracted her.
‘Not likely.’
I’d been stuck in homeroom with Lilly after I’d climbed down from the roof, the teachers deciding to give up on lessons and set us to self-study instead. An attempt to stop rumours spreading that might damage Osterholt’s reputation most likely. Although, everyone had still seemed to know that something had gone wrong. The host going down was hard to miss after all. I hadn’t heard anything about Archie.
The lack of news felt more a curse than a blessing as I’d ended up spending the rest of the day worried that someone would ask me about the brutalised boy. Even on the ride home, I’d been scared that one of my friends would suddenly bring up what might’ve happened to the annoying boy.
At least the ride had been quick. Unlike me, they still live in the same district as the school, Claire even living in the same building I used to, so I’d only needed to ride one station past where they got off. After that, I hopped right back on a train towards the school. No time to visit my dad’s apartment when the dead drop would just be sitting out in the open.
A bump in the road bangs my nose into the glass, knocking me out of my angry thoughts over the near tonne of gold and silver that I’d left tucked under an overpass. The scrap of paper I’d gotten in return seemed like a joke compared to what I’d traded it for. Especially so, when I realised where the address on it was telling me to go and what it wanted me to look for.
The bus’s judders and bumps have come with more violence and frequency as we’ve approached my stop. The many roots pushing up through the tarmac making it difficult to focus on the handful of people I can still see rushing about outside. I’d always imagined this part of the district to be abandoned. Certainly, where nearly all the rest has been re-developed from its suburban roots, the area most strongly affected by whatever is locked nearby is a frozen window back to a time I’m too young to remember really existing.
Big, fully detached houses pass by out the window. Long driveways and garages with yards larger than my dad’s apartment just visible behind them. The identical white render of their walls now long since worn away or covered up by the encroaching jungle that helped put Osterholt out of business. It had been poor investments like these houses that really did for them of course but the Conjunction had been the proverbial straw that everyone likes to point to.
Not that there looks to be many people left around here to do the pointing. Most of the driveways are empty and more than one front door seems to have been broken down and never repaired. Although, it’s hard to make out anything for certain through the rain and darkening twilight of the late afternoon quickly turning to dusk.
Those places that do show signs of being lived in have become less common as the bus has gotten closer to the walls. My eyes straining against the dark and head leaning forward to track the last of them. A small crowd of people all racing towards a house where the lights are still on in most of the rooms.
The dozen or so shapes ignore the boarded up front to instead pass through a gate on the right that leads into the backyard. A light on the house’s side briefly illuminating the men in their thin looking coats. My eyes are drawn to the glint of something metallic strapped to the sides of most. Tool, blade or gun, I’m too far away to tell.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
My fists unclench from where they’ve been gripping my legs tight enough to aggravate the bruising. Tension released with a long breathe that only sends a few twinges through my ribs after the near half a pack of painkillers I choked down in the train ride to get here. Every Meta has their own tolerance for narcotics and, given how I haven’t passed out or thrown up, I’m guessing mine is pretty high.
The dull numbness of the painkillers helps to keep my breathing steady as I watch the last light disappear behind us. The few streetlamps still present on the sidewalk hanging unlit and useless at the top of their vine covered poles. The bus barely slows as it takes a sharp turn onto the street I’ll be getting off at. The momentum almost slamming my face into the glass before I pull myself away with a frown of annoyance. Not that I can blame the driver, even locked away in his sealed compartment, I don’t want to spend any more time here than I have to either.
My eyes peer through the dark to try and get a good look at the houses to either side of the street I’ll soon be walking on. Struggling to get more than the occasional glimpse of a roof or second story through the borderline safari park now surrounding us.
Thin, young trees rise above most of the houses. Their branches bursting through windows or tearing holes into roofs as they slowly do the developers work for them. Tall grass and ferns that would have filled neat lawns in earlier days, now spilling out onto the sidewalk with wilder and stranger plants bursting up from between the paving slabs. Few houses look to still be wholly intact and I can spot far fewer signs of the council’s purges.
I feel my resolve draining further away with every new sign of the street’s total abandonment. Searching with increasing desperation for any sign of people living here. Even gangers. No lights come from the houses, no paths are trodden through the overgrowth and no hands look to have moved the ivy-covered side gates in quite some time.
A glimpse of something moving atop one of the roofs has me flinching in my seat. Its amorphous silhouette slightly darker than the sky behind it and disappearing fast enough I can’t be certain if it was the sign of life I’d been looking for or just a tumbling piece of greenery. Logical thought insists it must be one or the other even as some deep primordial instinct insists that it’s a monster that has escaped containment.
An instinct I do my best to squash when I realise that my own stop is rapidly approaching. The bus shelter barely visible under the weight of a gigantic orange tree that’s almost entirely covered its far side and is now using the roof as support for more branches. The constant heat and humidity of this area, likely combined with some lingering strangeness from the condemned zone, making it grow to ridiculous proportions.
Even in these late September days, the leaves in this area are all still rich and vibrant and I’ve seen more than a few small fruits hanging from the boughs of those we’ve passed. My focus drawn to the orange tree that the bus is now approaching where one fruit in particular looks almost the size of my head. It’s constant movement, buffeted back and forth by wind and rain, having me squint to try and make sense of what I’m seeing.
‘Is it getting bigger?’
A flash of lightning startles me from my inspection. The sudden light heralding the storm that has been building since lunchtime finally unleashing its fury. The crack of thunder that follows has me glance to the side for where the column of what is likely to be at least a small twister should be. Somewhere off to the distant right from the sound of the rumbling crash. Lightning comes again soon after, illuminating the outline of a mega-building as it is silently torn at by a twisting vortex of debris filled wind. Far away from my dad’s apartment at least but I’ll still have to hope he doesn’t send someone to check up on me.
I look back with a sigh for tomorrow’s problems, resolving again to try not to think about the things I cannot control. Not yet. Staring out the window at the shelter for a moment longer while knowing that I need to press the buzzer for the bus to stop. The only thing worse than getting off here would be having to walk back through the storm.
Still, some part of my hindbrain insists that I wait and watch a little longer. Some instinct I can’t quite trust, but am willing to humour, insisting that I’m missing something. That something is wrong. Of course, it could just be that me even thinking about getting off here, in the middle of a storm, is the entirely reasonable danger it’s alerting me to.
I’m just about to give up and write the instinct off when another flash of lightning illuminates the bus stop once again. The brief light drawing my eye to what I’ve been failing to see. Or rather, not see. The orange I’d been looking at is gone.
My eyes widen further as I spot signs of many more plucked fruits now that I know what to look for. The crack of thunder that follows the flash feeling as if it rattles through every one of my still bruised bones. Setting my heart to racing along besides the now constant bumps in the road. I blink furiously as I grip onto my seat, trying to reacclimate my eyes to the near darkness outside so that I can get another look at the tree.
Another flash of lightning comes just as I start to see more than outlines and blobs of shadow through the window. The harsh light revealing the shelter again and making very clear that, yes, the oranges are getting bigger, and also, that something is taking them. The illumination flees just as quickly after ruining my night vision. Pushing back the darkness of the overcast sky only long enough to scare away my newfound resolve.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
It’s with a bile-filled swallow that I force my hand to press the stop button anyway. The little ring, and the attention it draws, doing nothing to calm my rapid breathing. I hunch my shoulders against the attention, slumping down on instinct as I hear the disapproving mutterings of the old couple behind me. It’s thanks to them that I don’t notice the girl slipping into the seat across the aisle from me until a pink-skinned hand is waved in front of my face.
“Heya, sister. You ok?”
“Ye-”
My reply gets drowned under a coughing fit as I get a good look at the extremely well-endowed young woman leaning towards me. My eyes feeling like they’re about to bulge out of my head as they struggle to find somewhere safe to look. Settling eventually on her face and white bob cut that has an odd familiarity to it. It takes me a second longer of trying to clear my throat before I place the resemblance. The bottom half of her face is a near exact match for True Grip, a local corporate hero of some minor renown. Likely, the beautiful woman is a franchised joy-toy. That, or she’s risking a lot by taking the heroines likeness so openly.
I can’t help but take another glance over her clothes at the realisation. Noting how what I’d first taken for a generic tube top and hotpants combo is actually a shrunken version of True Grip’s costume. Only the half mask she wears to cover everything above her nose is missing. There’s an embarrassing moment where I almost ask the girl if the hero she’s copying really does have purple eyes before I stop myself with a swallow. Likely, eye colour is the only part of her body she got to choose for herself.
“Hey there, looking’s free but only to a point.”
My cheeks burn at her playful tone, the coy smile on her face tripping up my explanation for why I’d been intently staring at her curves. I’ve only ever seen True Grip through recordings and a handful of streams but I’m pretty certain she doesn’t have anywhere close to the proportions of the woman in front of me. My wonderings over how much liberty ACME had taken with their employee’s body-set causing my eyes to start wandering in turn.
“S- sorry, I’ll uh, yes. I’m just, going. Yes. Going now.”
I give up on trying to reply through my furious blush and suddenly thick tongue. Nodding repeatedly as I stand from my seat and force the girl to lean back or be pushed aside. She does so with a sigh as I brush past her hand. Worry and regret clear on her face as she calls out to me again.
“You sure, sis? This ain’t the kind of place you should be. Why don’t you come sit with-”
“Paburen mu lang na kanin yung poser!”
The sudden burst of what I think is Filipino from further back cuts off the girl’s offer. The staccato harshness making me flinch before I glance to the back of the bus where another pair of colourful joy-toys are sitting. The perfectly identical pair of aggressively plastic girls not looking quite as welcoming as the third. Their lips twisted up in a synchronised sneer towards me. I barely have a chance to feel insulted at whatever they might have said before the pink cosplayer is snapping back at twice the speed.
I move up the bus to get away from the conversation before one of them can try to involve me again. Whether it comes from concern or not, I don’t want anyone to remember seeing Millie Carew get off here. The bumping of the bus and slight shaking in my legs has me regretting the decision almost immediately. Every step becoming a new fight not to fall over. I grab onto the standing poles like a drunk toddler as I make my way slowly to the front. Now finally able to get a good look out the front windscreen.
The half-covered bus station approaches rapidly on the left with a turn not far beyond it down the street. Just before the cul-de-sac and the semi-mythical location I’m here to find. My goal somewhere within the smattering of houses all connected to a wide circle of road that has been so thoroughly smashed and broken that a young redwood has grown up in its centre. The trunk almost as wide as the bus and blocking my view of the waymark I’ll apparently find behind it.
“You sure this is you, girl?”
The bus drivers tinny voice startles me from my inspection of the ruined houses facing the redwood. His words robbed of inflection by the low drone filling the intercom that connects to his sealed in box. I almost glance up on instinct at the camera he’ll be looking at me through, ducking back down with grit teeth after nearly letting myself be recorded.
The vehicle comes to a squealing stop before I can think to answer. The suddenness of it forcing me to grab onto a second pole so as to avoid being knocked from my feet. Even the rising shouting match of too fast to parse Filipino coming to a halt as the bus settles down onto its suspension with a slight release of steam from underneath. I barely notice the returned quiet, staring wide-eyed at the wildly flapping leaves and torrential rain waiting just outside the still sealed doors.
“Girl? I don’t want to keep those doors open for long. You getting off here, or not?”
I force myself to nod before I can think more on it, ignoring a call from the franchised girl to come sit back down. The driver doesn’t wait for more, releasing the door lock with a huff that becomes more a static filled roar through the ancient speaker. The rattling plastic of the doors splitting apart with a hiss that releases a blast of hot wind into the cabin. Leaves, twigs and rain all tearing through the bus in a miniature vortex of our own. Much to the displeasure of the people sharing it with me.
The humidity instantly soaks my skin in a film of sweat that makes me glad I’d taken the time to duck into a bathroom to change out of my hoodie and frilly skirt. The waterproof tights and pink shirt under my raincoat being only mildly uncomfortable now that they are sticking to my skin. I still shift to try and work them free, wondering how many jewellery stores I’ll need to hit to afford a costume made with meta-materials that can handle any weather. The memory of the pleasant chill provided by the bus’s sealed interior adding another point to the list of temptations for just coming back on a day with less lethal weather.
“Get goin’ or get sittin’, lah!” A shout from one of the plastic joy-toys startles me a moment before, with a deep breath, I hunch my shoulders and rush out the door. Feet stepping down onto the cracked sidewalk just as the bus doors close behind me. The driver hadn’t been kidding about not keeping them open long.
“Last bus is at eight.”
I just catch his words through the intercom before the squeak of tires and releasing brakes signals that the vehicle is pulling away. It’s a struggle not to flinch at the noise or give in to the urge to look back at my last chance to put this off. It’s a false hope anyway. I have no guarantee my new contact will be willing to meet on another day.
‘Assuming they even exist…’
I just catch a glimpse of the bus out of the corner of me eye as it takes the next left and turns away from the cul-de-sac. Leaning sharply as the driver again chooses to do so without slowing down. The franchised joy-toy who’d tried to get me to stay catches my eyes out of the rain spattered window. Her expression impossible to discern before the bus pulls out of sight.
I hurry into the shelter before I lose my nerve. The little light cast by the bus’s interior disappearing around the corner and making the street seem even darker for its absence. I shake the worst of the rain from my back as I move. Distracting myself by wondering if I should just pull up my mask now or try to make more distance from the last place I was seen.
I freeze the moment that I step fully under the cover of the shelter’s roof, legs already wanting to take me right back out the way I came in. Right hand gripped tightly around the handle of the ice-axe in my Pocket while the other hesitates to do more than touch the grip of a revolver. If the sky outside is dark, then the space inside the bus stop is near pitch. The heat and humidity making me shiver as the damp air feels like something heavy is pressing into my face.
The thought of who, or what, was picking the oranges has me holding my breath and straining my ears to try and get some hint of what might be hiding in the dark. Insistent thought that it will just be a local taking the chance at free food doing little to convince my beating heart. The urge to back out of the shelter and then run directly to my goal is near overwhelming. Thankfully, my eyes adjust to the dark in time to reveal that the tunnel is empty before I can act on the embarrassing urge.
The long and narrow shelter has only two openings on opposite sides and ends, one where the bus has just dropped me off and the other out onto the sidewalk proper. The clear plastic of the roof and sides should let in as much light as needed but the rampant growth of the orange tree over its top, and what looks like palm fronds and ivy up the sides, have made it into more a cave than a shelter.
I take another deep breath before hurrying forward. Fighting to get the beating of my heart under control as I pull up the fabric of the half ski-mask from my neck and slide on my snow goggles. The blue mac comes off next and is stuffed into a pocket of my torn-up jacket before I pull out a red one of identical make and shrug it over my shoulders. I might not have much of an actual costume, it just being clothes really, but I’ll be damned if I can’t at least keep my colours consistent.
My left hand, pulled away from the revolver now that I’m less worried about being eaten, moves to do final checks on my makeshift gear. Smoothing down the sweat slick creases in my tights before making sure that my ponytail isn’t about to get caught on my mask. Checks complete, and breaths coming slower for the little ritual, I stand straight backed as I exit the shelter with a confident stride.
One that I spoil immediately by almost tripping over a bucket filled near to the brim with oranges. My foot stubbing into its side as the black plastic blends into the dark around it while the full body flinch that follows tips it over as I jump back under the shelter’s roof. My surprise knocking it away across the pavement while what must be several dozen oranges roll free. Their vibrant skin standing out starkly as they bump and roll across the broken paving slabs.
I stand frozen under the shelter, eyes pulled up from the distracting fruit and now looking around for any sign of the bucket’s owner. One hand gripping tight to the ice-axe I’ve pulled free of my Pocket while the other grips the shelter’s side hard enough to warp the plastic. I’d spent so long trying to convince myself that the fruit picker would just be some local unfazed by the rain that I’d never prepared for the far more likely scenario of finding no one at all.
I stand there a few seconds longer while staring out at the indistinct shapes of swaying grass and trees. Rain, wind and the setting sun hidden behind clouds all working together to try and convince me that all my worst fears about this place are justified after all.
Another glance at the bucket has me feeling suddenly ridiculous. Releasing the tension in my shoulders with a huff and a small shake of the head. I’ve never heard of a monster that uses buckets. Nor one that would be scared off by a little girl. I re-Pocket the axe with a forced chuckle. Laughing away my nerves as I allow myself a moment of relief, even while checking around just in case I’ve missed something.
Finding nothing waiting for me out in the darkening twilight, nor behind me after a quick glance, I can’t resist the temptation to get a better look at the tree. Even with that same hindbrain instinct as before insisting that I get away from here, it’s not every day that you get to see a bit of Clarke-tech. In fact, this is the first time I’ve ever seen a ‘natural’ piece in person.
The itching between my shoulder blades gets worse as I step out from the shelter. My annoyance over my unfounded paranoia rising as I struggle to keep my heartrate down and stop the tense shaking of my legs. If some random local feels safe enough to pick oranges out here, then a Supe like me should be fine. Besides, I’m done running from my fears.
I still angle myself so I can put the shelter to my back and keep an eye on most of the street beside me. Heart just a few beats short of racing and nerves insisting I examine each and every sway of over-large greenery. Although, despite all that, I can’t help but marvel at how the tree is growing heavy with fresh fruit right before my eyes.
‘These would cost a fortune to buy in a store.’
And that would just be the fruit, assuming they’re safe to eat of course. The tree itself is priceless. Or, at least not something a person without their last name on the side of a building can afford. Not that anyone would likely care to purchase it except as a vanity piece. Whatever confluence of randomly stabilised extra-dimensional forces led to the tree’s creation is likely long gone and so replicating it will be impossible.
Moving it too, most likely. If it were ever possible in the first place. For all that Throne is held up as the masters of this kind of borderline magic, Clarke-tech is just as notoriously fickle for us as it is for everyone else. Though, that doesn’t stop the Corps from doing everything they can to make a killing off it. Why this particular tree has been left alone instead of killed during some attempt to sell it off I can’t guess.
Thoughts of profit feel almost sacrilegious as I watch the burgeoning fruits. Heart rate slowing for the first time since I got off the bus as I marvel at the impossible growth. Even the insistent call that investigate every slight movement, looking for a threat that’s shown no signs of existing, fades to something I can more easily ignore. My hand sliding up the trunk and along the boughs to pull one of the smaller fruits out where I can better see it.
The movement shakes the branches, inadvertently dropping a deluge of water onto my head and hand. I don’t try and dodge, just closing my eyes and grimacing as I regret letting Jason choose a wool mask for my costume. Another thing I’m going to be upgrading once I have some money and the contacts for a professional design.
Thoughts of the future are pushed away as my eyes snap open on feeling the orange starting to rapidly swell in my hand. The rain on its side sucked into the rind like the worlds gentlest vacuum that just tickles my own skin. Breath catching in my throat as I watch the skin grow brighter with every raindrop pulled from my now dry hand. I pull the fruit out further into the rain, being careful not to pull it from the tree and risk stopping the magic early. Or interfering with what might be a volatile reaction. Oranges don’t normally explode but they also don’t normally grow to the size of sugar melons and suck in water like a sponge.
Unfortunately, solving mysteries and appreciating the first bit of Clarke-tech I’ve gotten to see in person is not what I’m here for. Though I do make a mental note to come back with a few bottles of water on a nicer day. A thought I would never have considered entertaining just a few minutes earlier. It’s with a more natural chuckle that I feel as the now heavy fruit stops growing. No longer sucking in rain or pulling on the skin of my hand.
My fingers twisting the brightly glistening sphere free with a rueful smile as I disappear it into my Pocket with a shiver that races up my spine as I make out the sound of splashing steps through the rain. Attention flicking back to the street where my eyes find the only thing waiting for me to be a terribly hunchbacked figure. The indistinct shape just a few metres away and silently fidgeting under the mass of a heavily repaired, and near fully covering, green coat.
My smile wavers at their appearance, but holds firm in the end, as I again fight off my fears of an escaped monster with a love of oranges. Doing my best to smother the flinch the sudden appearance of the bucket’s likely owner has caused by loudly clearing my throat and calling out in my most professional voice.
“Hey! Do you know anything about a ‘pub’ that’s supposed to be around here?”
should be in two days, the 23rd. (Will be tomorrow on the 24th.)
thanks for reading!
